


Blame it On the Coat

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8240444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: And Merlin felt it was particularly unfair to blame him for lighting the roasting rabbit on fire when Arthur stepped out from behind a tree wearing nothing but his long coat and a smile.Author's Notes: This is pure PWP fluff, because goddamn Arthur's long coat is hot, am I right? No spoilers. 3000 words.





	

Sometimes, Merlin didn’t just play at being slow. Sometimes, Arthur had very good reason to be annoyed with Merlin, and once in a while, even Merlin had to admit that Arthur’s snarled _idiot_ was more or less fair. But, Merlin would have also pointed out, Arthur was often the very cause for sudden onset stupidity. He would give Merlin a sidelong look or do that thing with his mouth and Merlin’s fingers would turn stupid and his vision would blur a little. Inevitably, he would drop something, or stumble over his own feet, or forget what he was saying, and Arthur would smirk like he really wasn’t surprised by this new example of incompetency. And Merlin felt it was particularly unfair to blame him for lighting the roasting rabbit on fire when Arthur stepped out from behind a tree wearing nothing but his long coat and a smile. 

“Hopefully my clothes will be dry soon.” _If you had been paying attention like a proper manservant, you would have stepped into that bog before me and we wouldn’t be in this situation._

_If you had been paying attention to where you were going instead of slagging on me, you wouldn’t have tripped into a bog, prat._ “It’s warm. I’m sure they’ll be dry before we’re finished eating.” 

“What’s that smell?” Arthur folded his arms and sniffed disdainfully. Merlin was trying very, very hard not to notice that his coat was barely concealing his groin. “ _Merlin_ , are you burning the rabbit?” 

“What?” 

Merlin looked down and blinked, surprised by the dark smoke rolling off their dinner. Arthur swore under his breath, strolled to the fire and lifted the spit away from the flames, revealing a thin rabbit carcass that was mostly singed black. “What were you thinking? You have to pay attention when you’re cooking over an open flame.” 

_I know that._ “Sorry, sire. I’ll eat the burned bits.” 

“Yes, you _will_ eat the burned bits,” Arthur said, tossing it back to him. “Get it cut up.” 

Merlin glared at Arthur’s shoulders as he marched over to the horses. It really wasn’t Merlin’s fault that his clothes were sodden now. Arthur was the one who got carried away in his defense of baths more than once a week. And given that he’d been accusing Merlin of smelling like a refuse pile in the sun when he fell into the bog, Merlin couldn’t be blamed for laughing. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been laughing so hard he couldn’t help. And falling down to catch his breath while Arthur flailed in the knee-deep stagnant water had definitely, _definitely_ been a bad idea. 

But Merlin had been the one with the foresight to bring Arthur’s coat on the trip. Which meant that not only was he _completely_ innocent of causing the problem, he was also the hero who rescued Arthur from a chilly and uncomfortable night in the wilderness. So maybe it was a draw on just who was the biggest idiot between the two of them. 

Arthur returned by the time Merlin quartered the rabbit, his lips pursed to indicate his continued annoyance. Merlin nibbled on his dinner, wishing Arthur wasn’t angled away from him because he was sitting with his feet wide, the coat barely draped between his legs. 

“We should still reach the village by tomorrow afternoon,” Merlin finally said in encouragement. 

“I wanted to be there by morning.” 

“Oh. Do you want me to add more wood to the fire?” 

“Whatever, Merlin.” 

Merlin set his food aside and stood to gather more wood. Arthur’s hair was drying, curling at the nape of his neck, and a few leafs still clung to his skin. The sun was sinking lower now, casting longer shadows around them, and the fire glowed brightly against Arthur’s skin. Most of which was on display now. Merlin wished Arthur wasn’t so annoyed, but he couldn’t deny that his mouth was quite attractive with his lips pushed out like that. 

“Were you hurt earlier? You know, when you fell?” 

“I know what you were referring to, Merlin. And no, I was not hurt.” 

_Except your pride._ “Are you sure, sire? If you are and you don’t tell me, I…” 

“You’ll what, Merlin? Glare disapprovingly at me with those ridiculous eyes?” 

Merlin blinked his ridiculous eyes. “No, I was going to say that I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the problem.” 

“My _problem_ is that my clothes and hair smell like shit, and it’ll just be worse tomorrow after the smell’s been setting in my clothes all night.” 

“You don’t smell any worse than usual, sire.” 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying that I stink?” 

“No, no,” Merlin said quickly. “Of course not. You smell lovely.” 

“Lovely, Merlin? I don’t smell _lovely_.” 

“So you’re saying you do stink after all?” 

“Shut up.” 

Merlin laid the wood on the fire and settled on the log beside Arthur. He didn’t really need to sit that close, but it was closer to the fire, and he held his hands out in front of the flame. “Are you going to be grouchy for the rest of the night?” 

“I’m not grouchy,” Arthur said, sounding extra grouchy. “And you’re going to wash my clothes as soon as we get to the village tomorrow.” 

Merlin hummed and nodded. He’d already planned to find a laundress as quickly as possible, knowing Arthur’s mood wouldn’t improve until he lost the stink of the bog. A silence settled over them, and Merlin let his gaze slide sideways once every thirty seconds or so, looking to see if Arthur’s coat had slipped at all. Which was stupid because he’d seen Arthur in various stages of undress dozens and dozens of times. But this was different. 

“Merlin.” 

“What?” 

“I can see what you’re doing.” 

“What am I doing?” 

“Staring at me.” 

“I’m not staring. I was…just looking around and occasionally I’d look at you. Nothing wrong with that.” 

“You’re never going to a convincing liar. I suggest you give it up now.” 

Merlin glanced up, and saw a hint of humor dancing in Arthur’s eyes. Did he know how amazing he looked in the coat? Was the bastard doing this to him on purpose? Possibly. He was pretty annoyed about the laughing and pointing, after all. 

“I’m not staring at you,” Merlin repeated, resolutely looking straight ahead. The fire wasn’t nearly as interesting as Arthur’s bare skin, but he was _not_ going to be caught making eyes at Arthur again. Not if Arthur was going to turn it into some sort of challenge. 

“Fine, fine. I don’t mind, you know.” Arthur stretched his legs out in front of him, and Merlin’s treacherous eyes drifted back to his legs, and the way the leather draped oh-so-carefully over his thighs. “Lots of people enjoy staring at me.” 

“Because you’re the fairest princess in all the land?” Merlin asked lightly. 

Arthur moved so fast Merlin didn’t know what was happening until he was flat on his back, his ears ringing from the bump his head took against the ground. “Oi! What was that?” 

“I’m not a princess.” 

“Did I hit a little close to home?” Merlin asked, pushing himself up. He stayed seated on the ground, but out of Arthur’s reach. “You seem a little sensitive about that.” 

“Do you want me to knock you down again?” 

“It’ll only prove me right.” 

“Do you know it’s a hanging offense in Camelot to call me a princess?” 

“You know when you make something like that a hanging offense, everybody wonders what you’ve got to hide?” 

Arthur blinked, and then his mouth pulled into a slow smile. Merlin’s stomach did a slow flip-flop. Arthur pushed himself to his feet and stood above Merlin-- _loomed_ above him with his coat barely closed. Merlin swallowed and tilted his head back, trying to stare up at Arthur’s _face_ and not at his crotch. Given the angle they were at, if he didn’t focus on Arthur’s face, he’d have no plausible deniability. 

“Do I need to show you what’s under here?” 

Merlin’s mouth ran dry. He didn’t think it was a genuine question, though Merlin would be happy to give a genuine answer. “I…I already know what’s under there, my…” 

“Merlin.” 

“Lord!” Merlin said quickly. “I was going to say _my lord_. I don’t actually have a death wish.” 

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell.” 

“Yes, sire.” 

“Mer _lin_.” 

“Yes?” 

“My face is about three feet higher than where you’re looking.” 

“What?” Merlin quickly looked up, his cheeks flaming red. His attention had drifted down so gradually that he hadn’t even noticed. Arthur had noticed though, goddamn his sharp eyes. Not that he needed sharp eyes to notice the person sitting at his feet is staring at his crotch. “I was just…averting my eyes…you know…out of respect.” 

“That excuse won’t work, Merlin. I happen to know that you don’t do anything out of respect.” 

Which was mostly true and Merlin quite simply didn’t have any other excuse to offer. “Fine. I can’t keep my eyes off of you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“I’ve just been waiting for you to admit it. As I told you, it’s perfectly natural to want to stare at me. I am rather stunning.” 

“Oh my god, you are the most obnoxious, arrogant, pain in my…” Merlin had more things to say. He had a whole list of insults he’d been saving up, and Arthur deserved every single one of them. He truly did, except he couldn’t remember any of them because Arthur had uncinched the belt that kept his coat closed. And the full sight of what he had been desperately trying to catch glimpses of stilled his tongue. 

“Well, now I know how to get you to shut up,” Arthur said amiably. 

“Close your coat,” Merlin said, his throat rough. 

“Why? I quite like it open. The sun feels nice.” 

“It’s dangerous.” 

“There’s no danger around here. The woods are quiet.” 

_I didn’t mean it’s dangerous for you, you prat._ “Just…you proved your point.” 

“What’s my point?” 

Merlin shook his head helplessly. He couldn’t remember the point of this whole stupid exchange. “You’re not a girl?” 

“You don’t sound so sure about that.” 

Merlin stared at Arthur’s cock, resting against his thigh. Long and thick, nestled in a patch of hair that was only a shade darker than the hair on his head. He was bathed in the slanted sunshine, his skin looking warm and tight and perfect. Every little detail of his body made Merlin ache with fresh desire. 

“I’m sure,” Merlin whispered, tired of this game, knowing Arthur could read every flicker of hunger and need in his eyes. Merlin didn’t want to look up to see Arthur smirking at him, because then he would probably turn the insufferable prince into a toad and for once, it felt like something that really was worth dying for. 

But Arthur wasn’t smirking at him. He studied him with hooded eyes, and Merlin wasn’t entirely sure when the joke had stopped, but there was nothing funny about the set of his mouth or the way his eyes darkened. A quick look confirmed that he was mostly erect now, his cock growing until it was almost reaching for Merlin. Merlin felt like he was no longer controlling his own body. Somebody else was pulling the strings, making him move until his legs were under him and he was kneeling with his mouth inches from Arthur’s prick. 

If Arthur was going to stop him, it needed to be _now_. He needed to grab Merlin by the shoulders, haul him to his feet, give him a good shake and demand to know just what the hell he was doing. Then he could inform Merlin that that sort of buggery was punishable by a week in the stocks and toss him away. Merlin’s shoulders were tense, and he was prepared for just that sort of reaction when he finally tilted his head and skimmed his lips over the velvet-soft skin. 

Arthur didn’t grab him by the shoulders. He didn’t haul him to his feet. He didn’t shake him violently or toss him away with threats. But he did make a sound that was almost like a whimper (would have been a whimper but everybody knew the crown prince of Camelot did _not_ whimper like a girl). Emboldened, Merlin dragged his tongue over the small slit, already tasting the salty hint of precome. He circled the shaft with his thumb and forefinger, sliding his hand down Arthur’s length as he takes more past his lips. _If he asks me later, I’ll just tell him I was trying to make amends for the whole bog incident_. Which, to Merlin, sounded much better than the truth. If Arthur knew the truth, he would go from being obnoxious to being complete and utterly insufferable, and Merlin didn’t need to invite that into his life. 

Merlin took the time to savor every inch sliding over his lips and along his tongue. He wasn’t in any sort of hurry, he just wanted to appreciate the texture and experience the taste of his skin. He moaned softly as he reached the base, his mouth pressed against his own fingers as he held Arthur still. The vibrations traveling through Arthur’s flesh made his knees bend slightly, and Merlin smiled to himself. He pulled back just as slowly, teasing and licking him, until he reached the tip again. Merlin glanced up through his lashes as he let Arthur’s cock slide from his mouth, his silent question almost loud enough to have been spoken. 

“What was _that_?” Arthur asked, almost breathless. 

“You don’t know? I can tell you what they call it down in the lower town. Though they have dirtier words for it in the castle, now that I think about it.” 

“I _know_ what it was, Merlin. I meant…why did you do that?” 

That was one hell of a loaded question, and no matter how Merlin tried, he couldn’t think of an answer that wouldn’t raise more questions. So he didn’t answer at all. “Would you like me to stop, sire?” 

“No.” 

Merlin grinned, mostly because of the way Arthur said no. Less of a demand and more of a gruff plea. He dropped his jaw and guided Arthur back into his mouth with a slow, smooth stroke. His head touched the back of Merlin’s throat, but he stifled his gag reflex and relaxed his throat, his hand snuck around to cup Arthur’s tight ass and pull him closer, deeper. Arthur seemed happy to let Merlin control the situation at first, but it wasn’t long until he palmed the back of Merlin’s head and began guiding each motion and thrust with subtle pressure. 

Merlin relaxed into Arthur’s guidance, cheeks hollowing each time Arthur slid down his throat. It occurred to him that he had probably just added several new duties to his already full schedule, but he couldn’t really feel sorry about that. Not when Arthur made little appreciative sounds every time Merlin swallowed around him, or when his chin brushed against Arthur’s balls. This was, after all, far, far more fun than anything else he’d ever done for Arthur. And he would never tell the prince as much, but he could be pretty happy devoting his days to sucking his cock and anything else that the prince might need from him. 

Arthur tensed without warning, driving his cock forward one final time, and then his come was flowing down the back of Merlin’s throat. Merlin moaned, his own prick twitching painfully against his too-tight breeches. He didn’t let go of Arthur, though, didn’t pull his mouth away until his cock began to soften against the back of his tongue. Arthur moved away first, and Merlin was feeling both insanely pleased with himself and unbelievably frustrated. The ache in his groin had spread to his abdomen and before long it was going to consume completely. Staying laced up in his tight trousers was probably causing all kinds of permanent damage. 

Merlin was focused on just what he was going to do to relieve that pain when Arthur dropped to his knees with far too much grace—his legs should have been far too weak for him to move like that. Merlin didn’t have much of a chance to think about that before Arthur was licking-- _licking_ \--at his mouth, like he wanted to taste himself all over Merlin’s lips and skin. Merlin clutched at the coat, caressing the leather beneath his fingers as Arthur deepened the kiss. The kiss almost felt like a punishment, like Arthur intended to reward Merlin by torturing him for eternity. 

The torture suddenly turned to something else when Arthur started pulling at his laces. Finally the terrible pressure eased, and Merlin whimpered his pure, weak gratitude as soon as Arthur fisted his cock. He was using his sword hand, which meant two things to Merlin. First, his skin was very, very rough. Second, his fingers were very, very strong. One hard squeeze had Merlin crying out and twisting, his body attempting to get away from the firm strength even as it tried to thrust forward. Arthur chuckled softly against his mouth and swiped his thumb across his slit, making his hips jerk and twist again. 

Arthur fisted him with slow, hard strokes, his hand growing more slick with each pass over Merlin’s cock. Merlin’s whimpers turned to moans and then sobs, and Arthur actually chuckled again—though he sounded far more delighted than amused. Like he couldn’t believe he’d found such a rewarding pastime. _What could be more fun_ , his chuckle seemed to say, _than torturing my idiot manservant?_

Somehow, between Merlin’s awkward twisting and Arthur’s sadistic touching, they found a perfect rhythm. One that wound Merlin tighter and tighter until he had no choice but to cling to Arthur, one arm around his waist, the other still tied up in his coat. He moved his hips desperately, his mind full of images of Arthur’s mouth and Arthur’s cock and Arthur’s ass and wouldn’t it be great if he was actually _inside_ of Arthur? 

The thought was his undoing. His back arched and he made the most undignified sound as his cock pulsed into Arthur’s fist. Arthur continued to stroke him, slowly, coaxing Merlin through the trembling aftershocks. Merlin dropped his head to Arthur’s shoulder, moaning weakly and shuddering until Arthur finally stopped pumping his wrist. 

“That was unexpected,” Arthur said pleasantly. 

Merlin somehow found the strength to lift his head, and he was not at all surprised to see Arthur’s easy smile. There was no hint of Arthur’s formerly bad mood, and Merlin almost laughed at that. Was this all it took to stop Arthur from being an unbearable grouch? 

“Yes,” Merlin said, swallowing. “It rather was.” 

“Was there any particular thing that prompted it?” 

“The coat, sire.” Merlin dropped his head to Arthur’s shoulder again, closing his eyes and enjoying the texture beneath his cheek. “Blame it on the coat.” 

“I’ll make it a point to wear the coat more often, then.” 

Merlin certainly didn’t have a problem with that.


End file.
